


Just Something About Weddings (and the gift of a little firewhiskey-induced jealousy)

by greensweater



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Canon, Romantic Comedy, Seamus Finnigan POV, Weddings, oblivious dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 18:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11697504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greensweater/pseuds/greensweater
Summary: “I can’t believe you talked me into doing this,” Seamus grumbles, trying valiantly to magic his tie into something less of a catastrophe.“Hey, it’s just for a night,” Dean reminds him. “I don’t want Ginny thinking I’m alone—she’ll feel guilty, it’ll ruin her night—and with you living here, everyone already thinks we’re together. Why not just… go along with it?”In which Dean asks Seamus to be his date to his ex-girlfriend's wedding and Seamus reluctantly agrees.





	Just Something About Weddings (and the gift of a little firewhiskey-induced jealousy)

“I can’t believe you talked me into doing this,” Seamus grumbles, trying valiantly to magic his tie into something less of a catastrophe.

“Hey, it’s just for a night,” Dean reminds him. “I don’t want Ginny thinking I’m _alone_ —she’ll feel guilty, it’ll ruin her night—and with you living here, everyone already thinks we’re together. Why not just… go along with it?”

“How do you have a better opinion of your ex-girlfriend than I do?” Seamus asks incredulously. “Remember, I was the one who had to sit through your endless why-won’t-Ginny-love-me monologues at all hours of the night in sixth year—”

“Hey!” Dean hits him lightly on the arm, offended.

“It’s true!” protests Seamus. “And now she’s getting married, and… nothing? I have to be the one mournfully condemning the tragedy of love lost while you caper about, drinking and eating yourself sick on that fucking _amazing_ singing mousse? I refuse.”

“Then swallow your pride and have fun at the wedding with me, you wanker,” Dean retorts affectionately, and knocks Seamus’s wand aside to fix his tie with his hands. “There.”

They take a moment to admire themselves in the mirror, and Seamus’s glance drifts over to Dean, tall and handsome in his dark blue suit. He’s painfully aware of the close proximity of their hands, knuckles almost brushing.

Seamus clears his throat gruffly, jokingly offering Dean his arm. “Our carriage awaits, my liege.”

“By carriage, I take it you mean our Portkey,” says Dean, smiling and summoning the Portkey from the kitchen, where it lay next to the colorful invitation. “And by ‘my liege,’ I hope you meant ‘temporary boyfriend,’ because that’s your role for the next six hours.”

“ _Six hours_?” Seamus says disbelievingly, but the Portkey sweeps them away into a whirlwind of sound and color before Dean can do anything but laugh.

 

…

 

The venue turns out to be the area behind the Lovegoods’ house. It actually looks quite nice, for a wedding half-planned by Luna Lovegood. Dirigible Plum trees line the aisle, luminous fairy lights twinkling from the branches. The tents look to be handpainted (”Luna,” Dean tells Seamus fondly) in a medley of vivid hues that mimic the sunset. 

“Dean! Seamus!” Hermione Granger hurries up to them, clad in a rather sensible dark blue sheath dress with matching bows to keep her curly brown hair in check. She gives them each a quick hug, mind already spinning in a different direction. “So lovely to see you! It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it? I’m sorry we haven’t seen more of each other–the Ministry’s in absolute _shambles_ and there aren’t many competent wizards to deal with it, so they’ve called in some of us former DA members to fill empty slots. These last three years have been a shitshow, to be frank, but we’ve been clearing it up as best we can. Kingsley’s doing wonderfully as Minister, of course, but there’s still corruption to weed out! I’ve hardly been getting my usual 5 hours, there’s so much to do. Anyway, how are things? I haven’t heard a word from you since–was it the May reunion?”

Dean shoots an amused look at Seamus. _Good old Hermione_. “We’ve been good,” he begins, “Settling in and living as normally as we can. Seamus has been working at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, helping George out. I’ve been pursuing a career as an artist–”

“Oh,” Hermione whispers, cutting them a guilty look. “It’s starting–better go. Sorry to stop you there, Dean; magical artistry is _fascinating_. See you at the reception!” She gives Seamus’s arm a quick squeeze, then moves towards the front to stand with the rest of the bridesmaids. 

Though there aren’t any chairs, there are wooden benches reminiscent of the Great Hall, and Seamus and Dean slide in next to– “Is that _Pansy Parkinson_?” mutters Dean. Seamus squints and _oh fuck yes it is_ , but she shoots them a poisonous look out of the corner of her eye as if anticipating a nasty remark, and Seamus just accepts that things have changed since the war, things have changed so drastically that Pansy Parkinson is attending the wedding of two notorious war heroes at which Harry Potter _himself_ happens to be. But he can still hear the echo of her shrill, accusing voice, and scoots a little closer to Dean, who looks over and seems to immediately understand, his hand settling just once, just briefly, on Seamus’s thigh, a warm weight that both startles and comforts him. But before he can really think about why his stomach suddenly feels fairly invaded with butterflies, the music starts and he has to choke down a laugh (because it’s fucking _pan flutes_ accompanied by a singer warbling in a Scottish brogue–of _course_ it is) and the two women walk down the aisle, accompanied by their fathers. Arthur Weasley beams proudly, fairly bursting with joy, and Ginny looks radiant, smiling widely at everyone and gliding gracefully in a gold-trimmed lace gown that clings to every contour and brings out the shine in her sleek red hair. Luna’s pretty much floating on thin air, a dreamy, happy smile on her face and Xenophilius aside her, in matching light blue. They stop when they reach the minister, a small man who seems to officiate every magical wedding. Their vows are fucking _poetic_ , honestly, and Seamus sneaks a glance at Dean and Dean’s tearing up, which in turn makes him get choked up, because sometimes he remembers just how good and kind of a person Dean is and it fucking _overwhelms_ him.

“And you may now… er, you _both_ may now kiss the bride!” proclaims the minister, and Luna kisses Ginny on the nose, which makes Ginny laugh and pull her into a passionate kiss. 

The reception takes place in the painted tents. Plates laden with food so delicious it could only have come from Molly Weasley’s kitchen float by, hovering by each guest as if urging them to take something. They head towards the crowd surrounding Ginny and Luna, and Dean takes Seamus’s hand as the mass of people thickens. Seamus’s shoulders stiffen and there’s those _butterflies_ in his stomach again, which is _stupid_ , since they’ve been holding hands since first year of Hogwarts. And it hasn’t been like, _gay_ , or anything–well, until now, Seamus guesses. Fuck. Shit. But before he can really, truly panic, they reach the happy couple, who look… well, the same, except more lovey-dovey and significantly fancier than usual.

“Hey,” Ginny says, grinning at them. “Glad you could make it.”

Dean hugs Luna first, a long, tight embrace that has Seamus feeling irrationally jealous, then guilty for being jealous, because sometimes he forgets that Luna had been the closest thing Dean had to a best friend during the War, while they were separated. He shakes hands a little awkwardly with Ginny, who rolls her eyes and pulls him into a hug. 

“Have fun tonight,” Ginny says quietly against his neck, and _how_ exactly does she make everything sound like a threat? 

Seamus only smiles warily before he’s passed on to Luna, who kisses her fingers and taps them to his forehead, then nods once and says “Thank you ever so for coming, Seamus. It means very much to Dean.”

“Oh,” Seamus says, nonplussed. He also sometimes forgets that Luna’s one of the most straightforward people he’s ever met. “Er, congratulations!”

She smiles serenely at him, and Dean taps him on the shoulder, a look of poorly disguised exuberance on his face.

“We’re sitting by Viktor _Krum_ ,” Dean tells him delightedly.

 

…

 

Krum, it turns out, is an _excellent_ drinker. He downs firewhiskeys like _water_ , and it’s fucking _amazing_ to watch, which Dean and Seamus do for like… longer than they would actually admit.

“Quidditch season starts in September,” Krum informs them, eyes mostly on Dean. “Perhaps you would like tickets to our game against Italy, no?”

“How do I say _fuck yes_ in Bulgarian?” Dean merely answers, and Krum snorts, moving a little closer to them.

“Then I will owl them to you,” Krum says with a decisive nod, and he smirks a little at Dean, and _oh fuck_ he’s flirting, Viktor goddamn _Krum_ is flirting with Dean, and how the _fuck_ is Seamus supposed to compete with a world-famous _Quidditch_ star?

Dean smiles roguishly at Krum, and Seamus feels something tighten in his chest at the flash of white teeth and the friendly crinkles around Dean’s eyes. He has to do something about _this_ , whatever _this_ is turning into.

“Yeah, you can owl them to _our flat_ ,” Seamus cuts in loudly, grabbing Dean’s hand possessively. 

Krum just sighs and knocks back another shot, then gets up from the bar and stalks away, muttering resignedly in Bulgarian. Dean looks at his retreating back, then at Seamus, eyes quizzical. 

“ _Okay_ … want to tell me what that was about?” Dean asks, letting go of Seamus’s hand. 

Seamus grimaces. “C’mon, you _know_ what that was about.” He refuses to meet Dean’s eyes.

Dean just groans and grabs Seamus’s jaw with one hand, forcing their eyes to meet. “Listen. I’m not trolling for a boyfriend at my ex-girlfriend’s wedding, that’s tacky,” Dean tells him. “You don’t have to be _ridiculous_.”

Something like relief flashes through Seamus, and he almost laughs. “Sorry, mate. Just… something about weddings.”

“I know,” Dean says, and he’s still so close that their noses are barely touching, and Seamus pulls away, stands up. 

“You want to dance?” Seamus asks, and there’s a joke behind the words, of course, but there’s something else too, something new and fragile that he can’t figure out.

Dean merely grins and gets to his feet, and for a moment it’s normal, like their friendship has been ever since Seamus introduced himself on the very first day of Hogwarts with a cheerful “Name’s Seamus Finnigan. Want t’ be friends?” And they had, just like that: best friends, forever and ever. And it’s been easy, it’s been so goddamn easy, up until now. For a moment, Seamus feels them slipping back into their old comradery, but as soon as he recognizes it, it’s shifted back into this weird tension that’s been following them all day.

Seamus’s hand settles on Dean’s waist, and their hands clasp. He almost forgets to breathe. Dean smiles down at him, and it’s a different smile from the one he flashed at the waitress. Softer. More intimate. Seamus smiles reflexively back, tightening his grip on Dean’s hand. Their fingers lace, and his heart beats a little faster. The band is playing something slow and nostalgic that he vaguely remembers from the Yule Ball all those years ago, and the lights dim to a soft gold, and Seamus’s head falls to Dean’s shoulder. Romantic, a little voice says in his brain, and for once he doesn’t fight it. Just… lets it be.

“Hey,” says Dean, quietly, and Seamus looks up. 

“Hey,” he responds, and suddenly they’re kissing, a fucking explosion of pent-up tension that's been pulling at them for _ages_. Seamus’s heart is beating so hard it could burst and Dean’s arms are loose around Seamus’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair— and Seamus doesn't remember when he fell in love with Dean but Dean's mouth is soft and he smells like home and if Seamus had to pick a moment to replay over and over again this would be it. 

“Want to get out of here?” Dean whispers, and Seamus is too breathless to respond. He just nods and smiles, and they make their way through the crowd, saying distracted goodbyes and holding hands and flashing each other secret smiles.

“We played right into their hands, didn’t we,” says Seamus when they’re a bit outside the mass of tents. 

Dean just shrugs and they Apparate home.

 

…

 

What happens next is nobody’s business but their own.

 

…

 

Later, when they’re lying under Seamus’s sheets, tangled around each other, Dean confesses that “this was, er, kind of my plan all along?“

“You scheming _mother_ –”

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! look who's finally posting again. this made its way over from my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lost-andfound) . (can you tell that hermione granger is my absolute favorite character to write?) kudos are a privilege and comments are a blessing :)


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